as in her power to say
the word that would calm him until the return of his mother and his
sister. And yet she found it well-nigh impossible to say that word.

"I'm tired of deceit," she told herself, as she stepped back in the
direction of the door. "I'll not say anything to him that isn't true! ...
Nothing can happen to me, anyway," she assured herself. "This is the
twentieth century, and I'm Rose-Marie Thompson. This is a civilized
country--nothing can hurt me! I'm not afraid--not while God is taking
care of me!"

Jim had straightened up. He seemed, suddenly, to tower.

"Well," he growled, "how about it? When'll we be married?"

Rose-Marie raised her head gallantly.

"We won't ever be married, Jim Volsky!" she told him, and even to her own
surprise there was not the suggestion of a quaver in her voice. "We won't
ever be married. I'm surprised at you for suggesting it!"

The man stared at her, a moment, and his eyes showed clearly that he did
not quite understand.

"Yer mean," he stammered at last, "that yer t'rowing me down?"

Rose-Marie's head was still gallantly lifted.

"I mean," she said, "that I won't marry you! Please--we'll let the matter
drop, at once!"

The man came a step nearer. The bewilderment was dying from his face.

"Not much, we won't let the matter drop!" he snarled. "What's yer reason
fer turnin' me down--huh?"

It was then that Rose-Marie made her mistake. It was then that she ceased
to be tactful. But suddenly she was tired, desperately tired, of Jim's
persistence. Suddenly she was too tired even to be afraid. The lift of
her chin was very proud--proud with some ingrained pride of race, as she
answered. Behind her stood a long line of ancestors with gentle blood,
ancestors who had known the meaning of chivalry.

Coolly she surveyed him. Dispassionately she noticed the lack of breeding
in his face, the marks of early dissipation, the lines that sin had
etched. And as she looked she laughed with just the suggestion of
hauteur. For the first time in her life Rose-Marie was experiencing a
touch of snobbishness, of class distinction.

"We won't discuss my reason," she told him slowly; "it should be quite
evident to _any one_!"

Not many weeks before, Rose-Marie had told the Young Doctor--in the
presence of the Superintendent--that she loved the people of the slums.
She had been so sure of herself then--so certain that she spoke the
truth. More recently she had assured the Superintend